Pretence
by Dea Liberty
Summary: She pretends and he pretends - and, in the end, they're all pretending.' After it's all over, Guinevere reflects. And soon, she has become a master of pretence. AG, AL. Spoilers. SLASH.


**Pretence**

**Fandom:** King Arthur (The Movie)

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, or I'd be rich.

**Pairings:** Arthur/Lancelot, Arthur/Guinevere

**Spoilers:** Major spoilers. Takes place post-movie.

**A/N:** This came to me when I'd finish watching the movie. The idea just wouldn't leave me alone. It's my first King Arthur fanfic - I've read some brilliant ones and I can only hope to live up to the standard.

**Warnings**: SLASH, character death, angst.

**Summary:** 'She pretends and he pretends - and, in the end, they're all pretending.'

**Pretence:**

He is standing by the window again.

She knows this before she is even fully awake.

His eyes are turned upwards, watching the moon, arms by his side and still as a statue.

She sees this without opening her eyes - the sight as familiar to her as Arthur's own body.

His eyes have that glazed look about them, and there are tears streaming unchecked down his cheeks. She's never sure whether he even knows they're there at all. His hands are clenched around a familiar wooden dragon amulet, thumb stroking it uncontiously - reverently - and his lips are moving, forming the words to a familiar mantra - a mantra that has replaced his prayers.

_"It was my life to be taken. Not this. Never this."_

Her heart breaks again, as it does every night, and tears come to her eyes at this clear display of his pain - it has been two years - two painful years - but he has not forgotten. He would never forget, she knows that, but she had hoped that his pain would lessen. It had not. It would not.

She sighs and shivers, feigning a restless sleep although she knows that he will not notice. Their bed is so cold - and so empty.

At times like these, her instincts - her heart - screams at her to go to him, to wrap her arms around him and give him that comfort that he so obviously needs. But it is not her arms that he longs for, and finding out that she knows the truth would be too much for Arthur to bear - and so she pretends.

She knows now that he was never hers - would never be hers. His heart belongs to someone else - he gave it away a long time before she came into the picture - and he cannot give her what is not his to give. She knows that he can never love her like he loved Lancelot - like he still loves Lancelot. Without the knight by his side, Arthur is only half a man. Some say that he walks like a man without a soul and - Guinevere believes - that's closer to the truth than the people who whisper those words in the dark know. Lancelot was Arthur's soul.

And Arthur's soul haunts her every step.

She realises now that it wasn't about her - had never been about her. Her guilt at Lancelot's death increases tenfold when she realises that he defended her for Arthur - not for her. He believed that Arthur loved her more than he loved him - and Arthur's happiness had meant more to him than his own life.

Lancelot had died believing that Arthur loved her more than he loved him.

And he had left her with a broken man. He did not know that the truth was, Arthur would die that day too.

She doesn't tell Arthur that Lancelot died because of her and she never intends to. She tries to tell herself that it is to save him pain - but truthfully, she doesn't know if this is selflessness, like the heriones in fairytales, or selfishness - and she doesn't want to find out.

She pretends that she doesn't see the pity filled stares that follow her whenever she is around the remainder of his knights.

She pretends to believe him when he tells her that he ordered their shared bedroom to be facing east because he likes to what the sunrise.

She pretends she does not know that, when he kisses her lips, he pretends that they belong to another, that when her soft hands run over his body, he imagines a pair of callous hands in their place, that when, sated, he pulls her supple body close, he is wishing for a battle-honed one.

She pretends and he pretends - and, in the end, they're all pretending.

As Arthur's heart beats its last few beats, he smiles an almost relieved smile and, with his last breath, he whispers a single word - a name.

And she pretends that it's her name he whispers.

**A/N:** I hope that you all enjoyed that. Please take a couple of minutes to tell me what you think of it. All feedback is adored - flames will be used to burn down your house.

Thanks again for reading.

Dea


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